Remus Lupin and the Prisoner of Azkaban
by Diminished Seventh
Summary: PoA from Lupin's point of view. In Chapter 4, McGonagall meets with the new teacher, who is shocked to hear about Black's alleged intents and starting to feel guilty about what he knows...
1. The Dangerous HalfBreed

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In a small, shabby flat in central London, Remus Lupin adjusted the frequency on an old battered radio. Finding the station he wanted, he left it balanced on the kitchen windowsill whilst he sat at the table, pen in hand, and began casually to jot down some notes about Grindywalds. An onlooker would have imagined Lupin to be unperturbed, without a care in the world – the truth was rather different. He was waiting for news that might dramatically threaten his livelihood, his standing, his entire future, and was seriously worried – rightly so. The calm tones of Duella Dulcet started to read out the evening news bulletin and Lupin's pen paused as he listened.

"…And the Ministry has just announced the expected amendments to the Bill on Werewolves in the Workplace. As of today, employers now have the power to ban werewolves from their businesses as company policy. This is seen as the natural progression of a clause added seven years ago that compelled these creatures to declare themselves to potential employers, and the Ministry seems delighted at having finally achieved stricter regulation. Dolores Umbridge, spokesperson for the Department of Trade and Industry, made this statement twenty minutes ago."

Lupin's face darkened as he heard the familiar, faux-innocent, breathy whisper, now animated by an unpleasant elation.

"Hem-hem. This is a great day for the wizarding world. Our people now have the legal right to protect their businesses from these dangerous half-breeds, and ensure the safety of their employees and the public. It is outrageous that it has taken so long to achieve this wizarding right, which must seem to all of us one of the most basic of standards. The Ministry will, of course, be implementing this policy among its own workers."

Of course. Lupin gave a flick of his wand and the radio cut out. He neatly tore up the papers he had been working on and tossed them into a wastepaper basket. They had been part of his consultancy work for the Department of Magical Creatures – work that had been nigh on impossible to obtain and was now gone in a moment. Lupin's face took on an uncharacteristic look of bitterness. Perhaps his replacement at the Department would be investigating him. The way things were going he would soon be locked up as a dangerous beast. Or even humanely shot. He sighed. Time again to buy the jobs supplement and see if there was anyone left who hadn't just amended their company policy on werewolves. Perhaps Gilderoy Lockhart wanted an assistant vampire-hunter, he mused with a wry smile. Except of course that Lockhart hunted werewolves as well - there would be no humane shooting, he'd be impressively mauled then exterminated with an obscure yet powerful old Bulgarian curse. Maybe he could work on the Knight Bus instead.

Three days later, Lupin had come to the conclusion that even the Knight Bus would probably exercise its right not to employ dangerous half-breeds such as himself. Everywhere else seemed to – he was even ineligible as dishwasher at the Hog's Head, and wasn't that humiliating.

Given his current status as society's pariah, it was a shock to see an owl perched on his windowsill. An enormously majestic Eagle Owl, as well, with all the stately gravitas of a royal envoy. Such magnificent creatures had not habitually called on him even before this latest attempt of the Ministry's to drive him into starvation. Noticing, however, that the letter carried the Hogwarts crest, he was confused no longer.

Dumbledore. The Headmaster of Hogwarts had kept in touch with Lupin ever since the defeat of Voldemort and subsequent dissolution of the Order of the Phoenix. No matter how hard he tried to disappear, to leave behind his memories and his guilt and his past, every six months or so there would be a friendly note from Dumbledore who seemed to track him effortlessly down to every godforsaken hole of temporary sanctuary. This place wasn't so bad, the Ministry work had been enough to tide him over for quite some time, but it didn't look as though he'd be able to keep up with the rent for much longer now. And here was Dumbledore, probably full of concern and intelligent sympathy and the incredible tact that made his offers of help sound nothing like charity. And he would reply, of course. No matter how painful the answer was to write, he could never bring himself to be so rude as to ignore a letter from Dumbledore. Not Dumbledore, to whom he owed his education, the only happiness - however brief - he had experienced in his life, and probably the Ministry work which had been sustaining him this past year. And of course Dumbledore's missives always brought him news of Harry Potter, which was one reason why he never felt too disappointed at realising the Headmaster had found him again.

Dumbledore's personal letters, however, were not usually embellished with all the Hogwarts paraphernalia. Lupin considered this in puzzlement, then took the envelope and watched the owl swoop off with a gloriously controlled abandon. He broke the seal and took out an official-looking parchment, covered with the traditional Hogwarts green-inked calligraphy. Reading and rereading, he felt an astonishment that turned to hope and then, what, _happiness_?

Dear Mr Lupin,

We are currently looking to appoint a teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts, and would be obliged if you would consider applying for the vacancy. This is always a difficult position to fill, as qualifications, active experience in Defence and certain personal characteristics are required. We have found recent holders of the post unsatisfactory for various reasons, and this has regrettably led to adverse effects on our students' education. We are anxious to remedy this as soon as possible and, knowing of your expertise in the field of Dark Creatures, and significant contribution in the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, we are convinced that should you interview successfully, you would perform the job admirably. Please find enclosed further details about the application process, and I wish you the best of luck should you choose to put yourself forward as a candidate.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

In an enclosed note, Lupin recognised Dumbledore's ornate script.

My dear Remus,

I know you are loath to accept anything from me, even that which you might expect as a friend, but please understand that this offer is made purely on your own merits. Hogwarts needs a competent Defence teacher, and I know you would be far more than that. Indeed, I can think of no-one better qualified than yourself – in expertise, experience and person - to take up this position. I ask you as the Headmaster of this school to come to Hogwarts, and I ask you as a friend to have confidence that you will succeed as a teacher.

With my best wishes,

Albus Dumbledore

Remus Lupin smiled, tucked his letters behind the toaster, and went out to walk in Hyde Park one last time before he replied to Dumbledore. The Headmaster had done it yet again: made things better, found the answer, worked some magic. Assuming that he got the job, and judging by the letters he probably would, he was going back to the place where he had spent the happiest years of his life. Better than that, he would be doing what he loved. Even better, they were paying him for it! Lupin stopped short as a sudden thought struck him. He would be teaching Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. James' son. He shook his head slowly in wonder. Dumbledore was a miracle-worker.


	2. The Successful Candidate

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* * *

The castle looked just as he remembered: wild, other-wordly, welcoming. He walked up the familiar steps to see a still more familiar figure waiting to greet him.

"Professor McGonagall."

"Mr Lupin." The stern features relaxed into a smile. "Remus. How are you keeping?"

"Oh, can't complain."

"Really?" She cocked her head to one side and looked shrewdly at him. "I would be complaining. That absurd Ministry ruling!" She shook her head in disgust. "Come in, then. You are the last candidate we are seeing, you know, and you will find everyone in a filthy mood. Still, perhaps you can do something about that. Follow me."

She turned and walked briskly into the Entrance Hall, and Lupin trailed more slowly after her, gazing all about him at the familiar architecture. It was years since he had been at Hogwarts, but the castle was exactly as he remembered. Or not quite, because then there had been his friends, and now… Stop it, Remus, he told himself angrily. Don't think about it, not now! Later, he would remember. After he had done his best to get this job, which he wanted more than anything, which he needed.

McGonagall was taking him into her office – the same tidy, functional, yet pleasant room it had been when he had visited it as a student. With one quick flick of her wand she lit the lamps that unobtrusively adorned each wall, pulled up a chair for him, and divested him of his coat, which then neatly levitated itself onto a stand. Flash, he thought to himself, and raised an eyebrow at her. She frowned and pretended not to notice, then reluctantly gave way to one of her rare unrestrained smiles.

"You haven't changed at all. It seems you can still enjoy a sly joke at your elders' expense." Lupin began a riposte – he could think of several – then stopped when he noticed her expectant look. He instead shut his mouth smartly and sat down, arms folded.

"Good idea. It would perhaps be better not to antagonise the interview panel."

"Indeed. And don't tell me the word 'elders' wasn't bait, Minerva. You should know better."

"Perhaps. Now. You may wait in here until we are ready for you, in around fifteen minutes. Your interview will be conducted by the Headmaster, with the four Heads of Houses present to ask any additional questions they deem relevant. After the interview, you are free to have a look around the castle with the other candidates whilst we come to a decision. This should take an hour at most. The successful candidate will then talk with the Headmaster, and perhaps with other members of staff, before returning home. Is there anything you would like to ask me?"

"No. No, thank you. That's very clear."

"Alright then. Good luck." She gave him a curt nod, and left.

Exactly fifteen minutes later, following McGonagall into the Transfiguration classroom where, she had explained, the interview was to take place, Lupin wished he had thought to ask who exactly the Heads of Houses now were. As it was, he had to conceal his shock at seeing Severus Snape there, as well as Flitwick and Sprout, who he knew of old. He had obviously not concealed his reaction well enough, for Snape gave a nasty smirk at his discomfort. He dreaded to think what questions his old schoolfellow might 'deem relevant' but at least there was Dumbledore to keep some sort of control of proceedings. There was the Headmaster now, gesturing at him to take a seat facing the panel, which Lupin apprehensively did.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Mr Lupin. Welcome back," Dumbledore beamed.

"Thank you, Professor."

"I hope you will not find this experience too arduous," the old man twinkled, "though I am sure my colleagues will do their best to make it so."

Lupin carefully avoided looking at Snape as he made a polite reply. Looking at the other teachers, however, did not fill him with cheer, either. Sprout certainly did appear in a 'filthy mood' and Flitwick, though he had a naturally jolly expression, seemed tired and fed-up. Great.

Things improved, though, as time went on. The interview was not particularly difficult and he was, after all, well-qualified for the job. Dumbledore's smiling countenance gave nothing away, but Flitwick and Sprout had begun to look more hopeful, and McGonagall was now observing him with a quiet sort of satisfaction. Snape's face was black as thunder, but Lupin simply assumed this meant he was doing well.

Everything, in fact, was just peachy, and Lupin was just starting get into his stride and show off a little, when Fawkes swooped in and landed on Dumbledore's shoulder, obviously to the Headmaster's surprise and, it appeared, apprehension. He stood and, calming the bird, took the letter it was proffering, a slight frown on his face.

"I am terribly sorry. Would you excuse me for a moment, please?" To murmurs of polite assent he strode out of the room, Fawkes gliding after.

This left an awkward silence. The teachers were obviously confused as to what was going on, and McGonagall looked downright scared. Obviously this was not a usual occurrence. It must be very unusual, in fact, for Fawkes to deign to play messenger – usually the phoenix would engage himself only with more important tasks. It was a mystery, and one unlikely to be explained, it seemed, for Dumbledore said nothing when he returned to resume the interview. The Headmaster was again focused and genial, but Lupin noticed that McGonagall kept giving him worried glances, whilst he steadfastly avoided her beady gaze.

Meanwhile, the questioning continued, and Lupin felt he was acquitting himself well. As they drew to a close, however, his cautious relief was punctured by the interposition of a dreaded silky voice which had up until now been mercifully silent.

"Mr Lupin, may I ask a question?"

"Of course, Professor Snape."

"As we are all aware, but, apparently, too refined to mention, you, Mr Lupin, are a werewolf. Do you think it wise, therefore, to apply for a job in a school? How do you plan to deal with your…problem? What I mean by that is, how will you stop yourself from, every month, savagely attacking children in your care?"

A horrible silence. Lupin sighed. He had been expecting something like this. Sprout looked embarrassed, Flitwick disapproving and McGonagall furious. Snape alone seemed comfortable, satisfied and contemptuous. As for Dumbledore…

"I would not consider it necessary for you to answer that question, Mr Lupin."

"Thank you, Professor, but…" But what? But he wanted to prove to Severus Snape that he could? But he wanted to get the job without having taken advantage of Dumbledore's protection? But he wanted, childishly, to impress them all? Whatever the reason, he had now committed himself to saying something.

"…but I think I can try to answer Professor Snape."

"Of course." Dumbledore signalled him to go on.

"I agree, Professor, that your point is valid. My condition would cause the school certain difficulties, were I to be appointed. However, I was invited to apply for this position when, as you say, all here are aware of what I am. I infer, from this, that the school would be willing to accommodate me with these difficulties. For this, I am profoundly grateful."

He looked straight at Dumbledore, who shook his head slightly as if to acknowledge no need for gratitude. Lupin raised his eyebrows pointedly, then continued.

"As you are all aware, I was a pupil here, and measures were put in place to stop me from being a danger to others." Seeing Snape's face, he blanched and almost stopped but, impelled by the wish to prove himself, and to deserve the look of fierce encouragement that Minerva McGonagall was directing at him, he continued.

"I see no reason why I should not be able to teach here with my lycanthropy under control."

Dumbledore nodded. "You would not have been asked to interview were I not convinced of the same. I can assure you that your condition will not be considered in our decision. Now, I believe that is all, and I know that Sir Cadogan is looking forward to giving his tour of Hogwarts, so please enjoy it, and we will see you again soon. Thank you, Mr Lupin."

"Thank you."

The job was his, of course, and, having seen the other candidates, Lupin was not in the least surprised. One was a disreputable-looking character covered in tattoos and with no qualifications other than a spell in Azkaban for Grievous Magical Harm. Another was what Lupin recognised as a hag, whilst one terrified-looking man was obviously one of Cornelius Fudge's lackeys. There was a woman who looked about twelve and skulked around sulkily talking to no-one, and, perhaps the most unlikely of them all, Stan Shunpike. Snape had also, as usual, applied, but, being also on the panel and presumably already familiar with the layout of the school, he had been spared the tour. He did, however, look suitably furious at Lupin's success, and disappeared quickly, to the new teacher's relief, leaving him to talk to Dumbledore alone.

"Happily, Remus, there will be no need for the sort of precautions we were forced to take during your student days. The Shrieking Shack was, unfortunately, necessary, but still a most unpleasant solution."

"I could have coped with far worse if it meant I could attend Hogwarts."

"Oh, I know. I know. Still, there is no need for that now."

"What do you suggest?"

"You have heard of the Wolfsbane Potion?"

"Of course, but…well, it's very difficult to get hold of, isn't it? And expensive."

"Hogwarts is blessed in having an extremely adept Potions Master, who will be only to happy to brew Wolfsbane for you."

Lupin could not speak for a long minute. "Severus will do that?"

"He will."

"Perhaps, Professor, you will let him know how grateful I am."

"Of course."

It was not until Lupin reached home, and bought the special late edition of The Daily Prophet, that he discovered what news had so worried Dumbledore.

Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban.


	3. The Only Survivor

Lupin didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to do.

Sirius.

His friend. His fellow Gryffindor. The spy. The turncoat. The Death Eater. The murderer.

The murderer.

He could not think of Sirius.

He had never been able to think of Sirius. Not since that night, that Hallowe'en, that grief-filled, terrible, wonderful night when the Dark Lord was defeated, Harry Potter lived and everyone else was lost and gone forever.

Lily.

James.

Peter.

Sirius.

Sirius was gone. Dead. Had never been. The Sirius Black he had known and loved, admired and blamed, fought with and beside, laughed with, grown with, ran under the moon with, trusted with himself, his secret and his vulnerability, had never been real. Had turned, plotted, pretended, killed.

It hurt.

It hurt like a bruise deep inside of him, still tender after twelve years, still a fresh pain at any reminder of Sirius. Padfoot.

He could not think of it, could not comprehend the betrayal. He had not then, he did not now. He moved the thought, slid it aside, refused to reflect on it, because then the pain would be so great and he was so afraid of it, afraid he would never be able to escape, that he would sink under the grief flailing desperately for a rescue that would never come because Sirius was not there, Sirius was not Sirius and never had been.

It was Sirius he grieved for every day since then, despite the careful dance he crept around that dangerous sorrow. It was Sirius whose loss was a constant relentless pain, despite the ghosts of James and Lily and Peter that silently pleaded and reproached behind his closed eyelids.

It was Sirius who had really gone forever. Every happy memory was poisoned by what Sirius had become. Every photograph was an unbearable, pathetic irony. Everything they had ever been was a lie.

Sirius was a lie, a nothing, but a nothing that had destroyed everything.

Yet Lupin grieved for him, for the idea of him, for what he had believed him to be. For his friend, who had not been real, but who had been really lost as the others could never be.

And now the man who had been Sirius was free. And now it started again. And now the bruise was exposed and bare and ready to be kicked and bloodied and deepened so far that he would never escape its throb. And now he must fight again.


	4. The Hogwarts Professor

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Lupin received his start-of-term owl in the middle of August. Enclosed were his timetable and class lists, provisional passwords for his office and living quarters, and a booklet of administrative information about the running of the school. The letter itself was in comparison brief, merely calling all the teachers to a preparatory meeting five days before the students arrived, to discuss several new issues and procedures and give them time to settle in before chaos descended. Lupin grinned to himself at McGonagall's wording and read her extra hand-written note to him. _Not you, Remus. I shall call tomorrow if that is convenient._

* * *

She arrived early, and as he offered her coffee and some of his toast, Lupin silently gave thanks that he had dressed before breakfasting. No matter that she had not been his teacher for nearing fifteen years; her disapproval could still strike the fear of God into him.

"What have I done to deserve a private briefing then, Minerva?" he smiled.

She answered curtly. "I checked the Lunar calendar."

"It's a safe date – a clear two days before." He chuckled quietly. "You need to get a new calendar."

"I thought you might be feeling ill."

That caught him unawares, and he looked at her sharply. "I will be. Thank you, that's kind."

"That's _manners_, Remus."

"But I'll thank you anyway. Now, what is it you have to tell me?"

She sighed. "There's a lot of it. And some of it is personal to you, but I shall come to that in a moment. First, security."

He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "I assume this is because…"

"Sirius Black. Yes. We are having to introduce some very stringent security measures. Very stringent. Not at all pleasant, but in the circumstances quite unavoidable, I am afraid. Dementors."

"_What?_"

She gave him one sharp look before surrendering into another sigh. "I know. But the Ministry insists, as do the governors, and as will the parents. Dumbledore refuses to have them inside the grounds, which is a mercy, but they will be stationed permanently around the walls checking all who go in and out. It is necessary, Remus. There cannot be any chance of him entering the school."

A sudden, long-forgotten apprehension swelled in Lupin and he felt himself compelled to push incautiously for a reassurance. "No trick, no disguise, no metamorphosis would fool them?"

"He would not be able to avoid them, no." Her stare was hard and searching.

Lupin's fear had subsided, if not disappeared and he was able to answer nonchalantly, not concealing his distaste. "The Dementors will, of course, be able guards. They have such experience."

McGonagall nodded briefly as she looked down again at her papers, but Lupin had been afflicted with a horrible hollowness and could not let her move on.

"Minerva…" She looked up in surprise at his tone. He shook himself, and tried to phrase a question that would ease his mind. "Is…is there any reason to suppose that he, that… Black, might have any interest in Hogwarts? I mean, do they think he might attack the school, the students…" A thought struck him. "…Dumbledore?"

McGonagall looked pained. "Remus…"

"It's al_right_, Minerva. Just _tell_ me!"

She blinked in surprise – Lupin rarely raised his voice – then visibly straightened herself as she replied calmly. "Harry Potter. He escaped in order to kill Harry Potter."

"Oh Christ…" he stared down at the table, at his hands balled into tense fists. No. He could not let this happen again, could not accept that Sirius was, again, responsible for this… Not able to explain, even to himself, what exactly 'this' was, Lupin nevertheless felt a despair almost as desolate as that thirteen years ago, felt his insides shrink away as a new emptiness took over him. Old wounds that had only ever been hidden, not healed, forced themselves into his notice and only the consciousness of Minerva's sharp gaze stopped him becoming altogether consumed. She had been kinder even than he had realised by coming to see him alone.

"Remus. Here." She handed him a flask of some potion that tasted warm but sharp as he swallowed. As it hit the back of his throat he was jolted back into alertness while also, paradoxically, calmed. He stretched out a hand to see it perfectly steady, and then looked again at the label-less bottle.

"Handy stuff to have around," he said with a, despite the potion, shaky smile.

McGonagall stared grimly back. "For shock, though I didn't expect you to be so bad." She stowed the bottle back inside her robes then continued roughly, her Scots harsher than usual. "It's been thirteen years, Remus, and you're a fool to have kept running. How are you ever going to be any use to anyone if you can't think about him and function normally at the same time? You're a Hogwarts professor now, and you've got to protect the students. Don't. Fall. Apart."

His gaze was burning, his voice icy. "I am not going to fall apart."

She looked not the slightest abashed. "I'm glad to hear it. Now shall we move on?"

He gestured brusquely in assent as she tweaked her spectacles and continued to scrutinise him. "Good. Now, the Wolfsbane Potion…"

* * *

McGonagall hesitated before she left, wanting to explain. "Remus…"

"Mmh?" He looked at her in polite interest, but his eyes already contained acceptance of her as-yet-unsaid apology, as well as his own plea for the same.

"I was harsh, and a little cruel," she quelled his disclaimer with a flick of her hand, "but it was not without reason. This year you must be unimpeachable There must be no cause for doubt in you, do you understand? There were mutterings about the wisdom of employing a werewolf, and a…" She paused, "…non-Establishment figure even before Black's escape." She watched in satisfaction as he showed no reaction to the name. "You are known as his old schoolfriend, and even if your loyalties are not _publicly_ questioned…"

"I will have to prove that I am capable of fighting him, and willing to do it."

She paled almost imperceptibly, before saying, in a matter-of-fact tone, "Hopefully it will not come to that, but, essentially, yes. You will have to prove yourself ten times over: to the staff" Snape, she thought. Severus, he thought "to the parents, to the Ministry." She paused before concluding, gently, "It's Dumbledore's judgement on the line as well, you know."

"I know." He smiled and held the door open, and McGonagall knew that her first official meeting with the new Hogwarts professor had ended, and not by her will, but by that of this mild-mannered, tired young man. It was a situation unknown in her experience, and much as she tried to resent it she could feel nothing but respect and liking. Even sympathy seemed an impertinence. He'll do, she mused to herself as she continued briskly down the street. The girls will like him.

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